The road I live on isn’t paved. It stretches for a mile – a dusty avenue wide enough for two vehicles, and treacherous after a heavy rain.
I knew this a dozen years ago when we found our property, which ultimately became our home, at the end of this road. But I never loved the drive in. My aging compact car rumbled fiercely every foot of the way; forget ever staying clean.
I have a love/hate relationship with time. I used to feel like I had all the time I needed. It could drag on forever. Or maybe that was only true when I was five.
Around the age of 50, I started telling myself a scary story, the one where I’m running out of time.
Is it true that downsizing is a natural part of aging? If so, I’m in trouble.
My husband and I just moved into the house we designed, situated on five acres of rural property. It’s the largest space I’ve ever lived in. We chose to go bigger. I’ve felt quite fearless and completely terrified along the way.
Our generation likes to turn things on their ears.
We’ve exerted a lot of energy reshaping the world. Women’s rights (hats off to Gloria Steinem), rock ‘n roll (thank you, Woodstock), technology (kudos to Steve Jobs) and politics (sorry).
So it’s no surprise that Baby Boomers are now rethinking The Golden Years.